


Of Hostages and Prisoners

by junko



Series: Scatter and Howl [59]
Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-17 01:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9297518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junko/pseuds/junko
Summary: Byakuya's solution to the clan war is simple... and old-fashioned. Meanwhile, Renji lasts about three minutes before he blurts out his confession.





	

The look in the captain of the guard’s face telegraphed her concern. Byakuya could almost hear her silent plea ‘please tell me this isn’t the order to kill innocents.’

“Your orders have changed,” he said as reassuringly as he could. She would not like the new ones much better, he suspected, but no one would be sent to slaughter, at least. 

Byakuya still wore the faux kenseikan and his grandfather’s war kimono, but he had taken tea up to his study. He sat seiza behind his low desk. The captain of the guard knelt before him, her entire body still radiating deep discomfort. 

“All that is required of your team,” he continued, “is that they escort our cousin Hirako to the estate and... keep her under lock and key.” She would become a hostage. 

“My lord’s cousin is training to be a shinigami,” the captain said, her tone was sharp, but her head bowed. “Even the best of my team are not shinigami.”

“Our cousin is unaware of the political situation,” Byakuya said. “I have already sent a butterfly that should guarantee that she will not resist an escort.”

The captain’s eyes snapped up. “You lied to her?”

Byakuya opened his mouth guiltily, but snapped it shut. He didn’t need to explain his actions to a retainer, but the captain deserved to know what she was sending her people into, all the same. “I prefer to think of it as false pretenses, but, in essence, yes. Our cousin is under the impression that her betrothed was severely injured and that, for the sake of her inheritance, she needed to make her way here as quickly as possible.”

“You told her that Lord Shinobu was dying?” the captain sounded even more incredulous.

Breathing irritation into his sigh, Byakuya hardened his expression. “The moral dubiousness of the situation is not your concern, Captain. What is important is that my lie was sufficiently convincing that our cousin Hirako has left Academy poste haste, and is currently traveling without escort. I cannot provide protection as I am still under house arrest. I can also not send the Sixth in my stead as this is clan business… and, potentially, politically… messy. If her father gets wind of this--” Byakuya stopped. There was no way that Masato Kuchiki could know that Yakimura had coughed up his involvement in the clan war. Though surely word of Yakimura’s capture was already spreading. Byakuya took a breath, “Therefore, your people need to meet Hirako on the road immediately and make absolutely, one hundred percent certain that she is in no way impeded or intercepted on her journey.” Byakuya stood with a flourished, “These are my orders, Captain. Do you have soldiers who can flash step?”

“I do, my lord,” the captain said, her tone more contrite and subdued now. “I will see that it is as you say.”

Byakuya turned his back in dismissal. “See that you do.”

#

When Renji stopped in to check on the Kuchiki prisoner, he was shocked to hear that Byakuya had been there already this morning. 

With a retinue of soldiers. 

In some kind of war kimono.

Renji sucked in a breath and asked, “Just tell me straight-up: is Yakimura dead?”

Kinjo shook his head. He was leaning against the opposite wall, his back on the stone and one leg propped up at an angle. His hair seemed longer and the scraggle on his chin darker like he might have been trying to grow out his beard or something. Then again, Kinjo’s sense of fashion usually fell under the ‘fuck it’ category. “He pissed himself, but he ain’t dead. I bet he wishes he were, though.”

Crossing his arms, Renji pressed his shoulder against the wall and tried not to notice the line of new construction that clearly delineated the edges of the hole he and Zabimaru had made during their escape. 

Yakimura wasn’t dead. Well, that was a relief. “We got someone from the Fourth in charge of cleaning him up, right?”

“Not yet,” Kinjo said. His nose was knobby from having been broken in a brawl, and, unconsciously he ran a finger along the rough edge. “There’s some kind of bureaucratic delay. No one was really sure what to put on the forms, since the guy isn’t Gotei.”

Renji stood up straighter, dropping his arms. “Sweet fucking gods above, you didn’t leave a Kuchiki swimming in their own urine, did you?” 

“He ain’t no Kuchiki,” Kinjo insisted. “He’s some distant cousin or something, and, anyways, we’re soldiers, not nursemaids. I made an executive decision.”

“You made an executive decision?” Renji scoffed, smacking the side of Kinjo’s head in reproach. “This is why you’re not an executive, Yuu Kinjo.” At least Kinjo had the sense to look chagrined. Renji shook his head. “Cripes, just get me a bucket; I’ll do it myself. And then get that fucking paperwork filled out. It had better be on my desk by the time I’m done or you’ll be one less step closer to executive, Seventh Seat. Just leave anything blank you can’t figure out. Now for fuck’s sake, jump to, and get me a goddamn bucket.”

A minute later, Renji had a clean, medium-sized, prison-issue yukata, a brush, and a bucket of soapy water. He held the keys to the cell in his teeth and he was having flashbacks like mad just looking at the skinny, dark-haired form sitting stoically bolt upright, back to the door, on the single chair in the otherwise barren stone room. “Head’s up, Kuchiki,” he said around the keys, “I’m coming in.”

No word, no movement. Not that Renji expected a response.

Shit, it was like Rukia all over again.

Re-locking the door behind him, Renji set the buckets on the floor. The sharp smell of urine was strong. He spared Yakimura a brief, sympathetic glance. The guy must be dying from embarrassment. A noble like himself, losing his shit, literally, in front of Byakuya? Probably wishing he could commit seppuku right here and now.

Renji went over and clasped a hand on Yakimura’s shoulder from behind, making him jump a little. Letting go with what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze, Renji held the clean yukata in front of Yakimura’s face. “I brought you a change of clothes. I dismissed the main guards, but that’s all the privacy I can afford you. You’re under no obligation to take it, but it ain’t exactly warm in here and it’s only going to get colder tonight. You probably never slept rough cold and wet, but let me tell you, smart money is on being dry, if you’ve got a choice.”

A hand slowly closed around the offered yukata. “Thank you, Master Warden.”

“Acting Captain,” Renji corrected, turning to retrieve his bucket. “But, I guess the shoe fits at the moment, so whatever.”

He had no idea where the smell originated, so with a sigh Renji rolled up his sleeves. He was probably going to have to scrub the whole damn place down. He would have just moved Yakimura to a new cell, but this was the only one deemed appropriate for a Kuchiki. As fucked up as that was, there was apparently a hierarchy to the cells. Renji’d learned this when they brought Rukia here, all those months ago. 

Kuchiki got the big, clean cell. No matter how fucking tiny they were. 

And a chair, because Kuchiki do not sit on unadorned stone. But yet nobility don’t rank a cot. On the other hand, nobody slapped cuffs on Kuchiki, ever.

In some universe, this made sense.

Getting down on his knees, Renji pulled out the brush and started scrubbing the corner opposite where Yakimura had gone to change into the yukata. Behind him, Renji could hear the shuffling of silks. Dipping a rag into the warm soapy water, Renji held it out blindly, without turning around. “Do you need to clean off?”

“With that filthy thing….” Yakimura choked back his own protests with effort. “That is… thank you, Chief Warden, but I’m fine.”

Renji noticed Yakimura had chosen to stick with the ‘warden’ title. Maybe some kind of subtle insult was intended by refusing to acknowledge his real rank, but given what Renji was used to from most other Kuchiki…? This was really not much of a jab. Barely scratched the surface. Didn’t even draw blood.

Fuck, it was even sorta polite.

Renji had scrubbed halfway across the cell before Yakimura spoke again. His tone was contemplative, curious. “I’ve seen no soldiers of noble blood. Are there none in this Division beyond your captain?”

Taking the opportunity to rinse out his brush, Renji looked up at Yakimura. The soiled kimono lay folded over the back of the chair, which Yakimura had scooted into the corner with him, giving Renji more space to do his cleaning work. 

Yakimura had changed into the clean yukata. It didn’t quite fit him, a bit long and loose in shoulder and sleeve. Of course it had no obi, only simple ties at the side. It was gray and stiff-looking. Even with his long hair a tangle, Yakimura still managed to look regal, imperious. It was probably that disdainful expression, down the length of his nose. Yep, that was 100% pure Kuchiki.

“We got nobles, but you’ll never see ‘em,” Renji explained, going back to his work.

“And why not?”

“Because of Gotei policy,” Renji said, going back to scrubbing. “Even the Gotei sees the wisdom of not letting the fox guard the hen house.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yakimura pulled at the hems of the rough yukata irritatedly.

“It means that you all are interbred,” Renji said. “I can’t give your fifteenth cousin seventeen times removed the keys to your prison door. If they ain’t married into your clan, they probably trade with it. So, rules are clear. Only soldiers from the Rukongai work jailing shifts. Full stop. It fucking sucks, actually, because, for one, it means guys like me have to take a lot of shit-ass extra shifts that nobody likes, and second, nine times out of ten it ain’t nobles cooling their heels behind bars, anyway.”

“And there are no concerns that there are dirty-dealings among your own?” 

Renji set the brush back into the bucket in order to turn and give Yakimura a long, hard stare. “My own? What do you even think that is? There are some three hundred districts in the Rukongai. More to the point, none of us have got real families. Even if we cross over with blood relatives, the bonds are intentionally broken.”

Yakimura took in a long breath, through his nose. “Yes, like your souls.”

Zabimaru spat a hiss.

Taking the bucket with him, Renji stood up. With a flourish, he upended it. Water sloshed violently across the rest of the floor. It was eventually going to go down the nearby drain, but the moment if felt good to think of Yakimura having to stand around in pissy water. “I’m done doing you favors, Yakimura.”

Renji considered just turning on his heels then and making a dramatic exit, but he couldn’t leave behind the soiled kimono. Nobles didn’t get cots, because sheets made good nooses. All that pride was a killer.

Yakimura shrank against the wall when Renji came over to snatch up the silk. 

Renji stood close, only the chair between them, and pinned Yakimura to the wall with a hot glare. He didn’t touch him or even lift a hand to threaten. Honestly, most of his anger had subsided, but Renji loomed, intentionally. He wasn’t above putting the fear of god into this runty little asshole, after all. 

It seemed to be working. Yakimura gripped the wooden back of the chair with white knuckles and his back pressed firmly against the wall. He was several inches shorter than Renji, but his eyes stared back fiercely. 

“You’re a fucking moron and your pig-ignorance is going to get you killed--though not by me. By a shinigami of your own class,” Renji told him. “I don’t know where you’re getting your shitty information, but let me give you a little Souls 101. Broken souls don’t go to the Soul Society. Broken souls are what are called Hollows. Yeah, I ain’t pure, and it might take three to make one,” Renji’s free hand dropped to rest on Zabimaru’s hilt to pat it proudly, “But I ain’t got no hole, because I’m whole. Try to remember that simple fact before you go spouting your head off.”

#

Byakuya had Eishirō prepare space for two families to take up permanent residence at the estate. Once Hirako was secured, he would send for Yakimura’s wife and heirs. They would come voluntarily, Byakuya was certain. After all, their cooperation would spare Yakimura’s life.

And their own.

Hostages.

It was such an old-fashioned solution, but, with luck, a bloodless one. Bloodless, yes, but still severe enough to ensure there would be no more dissention in the ranks. In fact, the estate could easily accommodate several families. Probably, it once had. For this exact same purpose.

Byakuya was never happier to feel Renji’s familiar reiatsu coming up the stairs. Setting his tea bowl down, he poured a second one for Renji. “Come in,” Byakuya said the second he sensed Renji’s presence at the door.

“Hang on, would ya? I hardly even got my sandals off!”

Briefly, Byakuya entertained the idea of making a joke and asking Renji if he’d ‘had a bad day at the office.’ Given his track record with humor, however, he decided against it. Instead, he contented himself with listening as Renji grumbled his way through the door to plunk down, cross-legged, opposite where Byakuya sat on the low table. Byakuya handed him the tea, wordlessly. 

“Ah, that’s a welcome sight,” Renji acknowledged the offering. Gratefully, he took a long, deep swallow. Byakuya found himself, as usual, captivated by how muscle made the dark lines of tattoo jump and shift. “Do you even know how huge an idiot Kinjo is?”

“I have my guesses,” Byakuya said with a soft smile and a lift of the tea pot. 

Renji held out the bowl to accept a top off. “Big. Fucking. Idiot.”

That would, in fact, have been Byakuya’s guess. “Is what he’s done fixable, or will he need to be removed from office?”

Renji waved off the suggestion of dismissal with his free hand as he guzzled another draught of tea. “Nah. But, he’s moved himself to the top of my shit list. Thanks to his ‘executive decision,’” Renji made air quotes, nearly sloshing the tea in the process, “I’m going to have to put our guys on prison KP and cleaning duty. Mr. Numbskull didn’t start the paperwork to get anyone from the Fourth yet. I’ve got it on priority processing, but it’ll still be days yet. And that makes all my people cranky.”

And by ‘his people’ Renji meant the ones who would get stuck doing the grunt work: Rukongai-born officers. 

Nothing drove home the class differences in the ranks than having a Rukongai-born Fourth Seat having to scrub toilets, when a Seireitei-born Twelfth Seat did not. This was why the Fourth Division did most of the ‘dirty work,’ particularly in prisons. Having outsiders deal with such things meant fewer internal squabbles.

Division politics, on the other hand, Byakuya could deal with easily. “No need,” he said. “I will divert my cleaning and wait staff for the interim. After all, Yakimura is my guest, not the Division’s. With luck, he’ll no longer be a problem in a matter of days.”

Renji sucked in his tea too fast and had a short coughing fit. Once he got himself under control, he said, “Something change in the clan war? Or, are you talking about a final solution?”

Byakuya couldn’t quite suppress a dark chuckle. “No, nothing so severe. I have decided to go into the business of keeping hostages.”

Renji’s eyebrows rose and hung there suspended in shock.

“Now, really,” Byakuya frowned. “No need to look at me quite like that. It’s an age old tradition and it will guarantee obedience. Or do you enjoy attending captain’s meetings where you explain why the Seireitei is under attack by civilians?”

Raising his hands palms out, Renji said, “Whoa, I never said that. I’m just… I dunno, that’s a lot of full-time company for you, isn’t it? Lots of gossipy women and snot-nosed kids running around in the gardens and screeching down the hallways.”

Byakuya hadn’t considered the changes to his household, but he shrugged. “The estate is large. We will manage.”

The look Renji was giving him was hard to interpret. 

“What?”

A slow smile spread on Renji’s wolfish face. He pointed a finger at Byakuya’s chest in mock accusation. “Besides, you like them little rug rats, dontcha?” 

Byakuya hid his smile behind his tea bowl. He did enjoy the pitter-pat of little feet. Children were an endless source of simple pleasures… at least as a distant, doting uncle-figure. He set down his bowl carefully. “I have not been the best parental figure to Shinobu, and at least one of the hostages is an adult and will need Academy training. I’m hoping, in fact, to convince you to take over zanjutsu training for Hirako.”

“Hirako?” Renji frowned. “What’s she got to do with all this?”

“Ah, yes,” Byakuya said. “I neglected to mention that Yakimura finally confessed that the instigator, and, more importantly financier of the war is Hirako’s father, Masoto Kuchiki.”

“Kuchiki,” Renji repeated with a low whistle of appreciation. “Makes sense. I kind of don’t know why we didn’t knock on that door first. Is he actually someone’s son or was he adopted?”

“He is my first cousin, once removed, by blood.” When Renji seemed to be trying to calculate, Byakuya restated his answer, “My grandfather’s brother’s son.”

“Legitimate claim,” Renji breathed. “Fuck.”

Byakuya didn’t correct Renji’s assumption that an adoptee wouldn’t be just as legitimate because he suspected that with all this talk of ‘impurities’ it was possible that one of the reasons for the clan’s dissatisfaction with his leadership was his marriage to Hisana and subsequent adoption of Rukia.

In fact, he was certain of it.

Clearly, they had issues with him being a captain of the Gotei, as well, even though that had been a tradition for generations. Possibly, the issue there had to do with how disruptive things had been of late. Ichigo’s invasion and all of Aizen’s dealings had fundamentally shaken how the Gotei saw things, how they behaved--

Aizen… ah, that’s right! He should have asked Renji immediately how things had gone at the Second! “Are you alright? Was the procedure at the Onmitsukidō difficult? I mean, you seem well enough… how did it go?”

Renji chuckled. “You’re fussing over me. Look at you. It’s adorable.”

Byakuya frowned and sat back. He hadn’t even realized he was stretching across the table to reach for Renji’s face until he’d made that comment. Letting out a little ‘harrumph,” Byakuya said, “I’m merely expressing concern. At any rate, am I not allowed to ‘fuss’ as your lover?”

The series of rapid blinks and the blush spreading across Renji’s nose made Byakuya wonder if he’d ever actually called Renji his lover before, out loud. He must have, hadn’t he? This was a bit of an over-reaction at any rate. They were hardly still in the blushing schoolboy phase after all this time!

Something more was going on.

“Renji?”

The confession came out in a rush. “Captain Ōtoribashi kissed me.”

Well. That was unexpected.

**Author's Note:**

> Fingers crossed, the Muse seems to be staying around, like a feral cat.


End file.
